


From the ashes that blow

by AlexKylar



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 15:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6380953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKylar/pseuds/AlexKylar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teach me how to fight, I'll show you how to win.</p><p>She's the only survivor of the last red room. The number 24 tattooed to the back of her neck. Her childhood ripped away from her, tortured by memories of her brutal training, she's hunting down the answers to her questions.<br/>So if you're a part of her past, you should watch your back. Because sooner or later she'll be there for you.</p><p>What happens when Natasha gives her a way out?<br/>A life without killing, the memories and...a chance at love?</p><p>Steve\OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the ashes that blow

24.  
That was the number imprinted on the back of my neck since before I can remember. Written in sharp letters, the numbers showed no fluidity or elegance only a cold, hard, thick design.

Those letters imprinted on the back of my neck were no mistake.  
It didn't matter what I wanted, I was simply a tool, a weapon. Like the teachers at the red room always told me, I was part of a machine, I'm not a human being.  
All the other girls here are older than me. They don’t like me either. They used to push me, and steal my food. They left me with one of the beds closest to the door, which was the coldest because the heater is at the back of the room.  
The teachers are hard on me. They demand more of me than the others. They make me train longer, harder, faster. They test me, and train me. To kill. To survive. To hide. To fake. To betray. To trust no one. To hate.  
But they are the only thing I know. And they say I’m special. Why, I don’t know.  
Sometimes, the girls leave, and don’t come back. The weaker ones. The ones that can’t finish the training. Or teaching. Or the ones who act out. Or the ones that cry at night.  
I’ve never cried.  
Because I don’t know why I should.  
Sure our training was hard some days and they trained us to be a threat and I hated the training but why should I cry.  
The only girls I saw here cry were the weak ones and they didn’t last long. 

They give me pills every time the sun comes up while I’m still handcuffed to the bed so if needed they can force the pills down my throat. But I never put up a fight.  
The last girl they gave pills to use to hover over the bed while she was asleep. When she refused the pills they used to force them down her throat. That happened for 6 days until the next morning where they dragged her out of the room and I never saw her again.  
So I take the pills the doctor gives me and I let the teachers teach me what they want because when a girl is taken away, she never comes back. And I see the black bags the teachers show us to carry dead bodies in every day or two after someone is taken away.  
And I know they’re dead. And they’re never coming back.  
Over the years I get taught, the others too, but our class becomes smaller and smaller. And the training gets harder. So do the tests.  
And then they started bringing people in. After I could shoot without missing, after I could kill, they tested me. They brought in a person. A living one and told me to kill them. And I did.  
And I didn’t care that I just killed them.  
Some used to speak, but half of it I never understood.  
Some in English, others in French, and some in Russian and some languages even I didn’t understand.  
The teachers trained us alone sometimes, I didn’t know what they taught the others haft the time, but they taught me harder when there wasn’t any of the others around.  
I trained and sometimes I didn’t please the teachers because they used to hit me. Sometimes with a belt, or cut me with a knife or they would break one of my fingers so I had a harder time training the next day.  
I understood. I hadn’t pleased them and they were unhappy.  
And soon after our class was down to 4 girls, the teachers told us we were almost done. Which meant soon we would be let into the world and pay off our debt. What we owed to them by killing people.  
The next day our class went down to 3. None of us asked where she went.  
That night, only the girl that the teachers called May, like the month, was there at dinner.  
Something was not right. Because the teachers told us we would be leaving soon and there was two new black bag sitting on the front steps that morning which meant two people were dead. And I assumed one of them was the girl called Brooke that didn’t show up to dinner or bed.  
The next night May didn’t come for dinner and the other girl didn’t come back.  
What was odd to me though, was the next morning May came back, but with an empty look in her eyes and her face pale. Which led me to assume that something would happen to me tonight. Something different. And looking at May, nothing I would like.  
So that may have been the reason why when the doctor came to give me my pills in the morning, I drank the water and let the pills rest under my tongue and spat them out in the toilet later. The pills did something to me, or else they wouldn’t give them to me. So I wanted to know what they did. And I was a little relieved that no one noticed that I hadn’t really swallowed them.  
That afternoon something was wrong too, because the teachers were running around, and others were yelling. And two guards came in the middle of our class and grabbed May and dragged her out. And the teacher got up, running down the hall. I was alone. Without handcuffs. I didn’t know what to do. This was new to me. Being alone and the teachers panicking. I’ve heard others panic, the ones I have to kill, but never the teachers or guards. There were alarms going off and lights flashing, and the door leading out of the classroom had been locked. I assumed it was a test, the teachers always told me to wait while in the class room, be obedient. Do not engage survival or combat skills. So I sat calmly at the desk and waited. I was supposed to be getting my new handler this morning. And I wanted to be a good soldier.  
So I waited. And waited. While gun fire shots echoed around me and I was 85% sure I heard something explode. But I had not been given orders, and if my death was repaying my debt, then I would be in one of those black bags tomorrow.  
I door opened and I had to force myself not to look at what I was assuming my new handler. I stayed still and waited for him to address me. He seemed to be talking to someone and I knew better than to interrupt him.  
“Ya, I’m in the north hall, seems all cl-“  
He spotted me and spoke again.  
“Uh Nat? You might want to come and see this. Like now.”  
A voice spoke back to him, over his earpiece.  
“I little busy Barton. What’s the problem?”  
“Nat? You really need to come see this. He didn’t receive an answer but a few minutes later I heard footsteps.  
“What’s wrong Clint? I was-oh.”  
She came into my view and studied me.  
Her features twisted slightly like the first woman I’d killed did when I didn’t hit her forehead straight on.  
“I forgot about this.” She murmured quietly.  
About me? Oh. I’ll be better I told myself so she would remember to come get me because if she didn’t they would sent another soldier out after me. To kill me. And I didn’t want that.  
“My name is the Black Widow. Have you been given a handler yet?”  
Trick question? I wasn’t sure. People that the teachers didn’t want in the building never got in the building so this was her new handler or this woman was here to take her to her new handler.  
“No ma’am. But you are my new handler. Because the teachers tell me never to question what they do. And I want to be a good soldier. And I want you to remember me.”  
She starred at me with a look in her eye and then nodded slowly.  
“Barton, how long do we have?” She asked looking at the man that came into view. He carried a bow with him while she only had a gun.  
“Not long. Is she…ah…going to attack us?” He looked uncertain.  
I was sent reeling. Attack my handlers? I would never. I would be punished and it was shameful to not do what you were told.  
“No. She won’t.” She looked back at me.  
“Follow us ok? Stay close.”  
I nodded and got up and followed them.  
They led me to an air craft and the doors opened and let us in. And people in uniforms past us and they both kept walking so I kept walking too. I followed them into a room with a table and chairs and people. I wasn’t sure about this, but miss black widow was my handler and what she said went. The room went silent. People staring at me. One dressed in some type of red, gold armour, another in some suit with a cape, another that had glasses, one with a metal arm, one with a weird suit with a star on it colored red, white and blue, and the man standing with an eye patch was looking at them. Her.  
“Uh…Who’s the lab rat?” The man in the colored armour asked.  
“Romanoff?” The man with the eye patch looked at my new handler.  
“She was waiting for someone when Barton got there. She didn’t attack him, she was waiting for orders. She wasn’t hostile. She came on her own, followed us. She’s not a threat.”  
The man with the bow turned back to her.  
“You got a name kid?”  
A name. Uh. This was a trick question. I assumed. A name. No. I do not. Do you want me to? Should I? I was lost. I had no idea how to answer this question.  
My handler was looking at me too. I almost started to panic, she was looking for an answer. I didn’t understand. The teachers had never told me about names. I knew other people had them, but I wasn’t people. I was part of a machine, I wasn’t a human being.  
“I do not think so… I apologize... I…I do not know how to answer that question.” I wasn’t being a good soldier. I was being bad. She would tell the teachers and they would sent someone after her.  
“Wow. Calm down. It’s fine. Right Tasha?” He asked looking at my handler. I was so confused. They should be punishing me by now. I was being bad.  
“It’s not an order. We just want to know what to call you? What did the teachers call you?”  
24\. The teachers called me 24.  
“24.”


End file.
